Ransom Notes and Puppet Shows
by TheTheatreChick
Summary: The daughter of a wealthy Parisian family is kidnapped and held for ransom by the gypsies. Could there be a possible romance in the making between Rochelle and Clopin, or do they just hate each other? R&R please!
1. Midnight

I don't own anything except for Rochelle……YET (eyes Clopin suspiciously)

It was midnight in Paris. The moon glowed eerily on the houses filled with sleeping men, and the stars twinkled against the waves of the Seine. The soft wind blew loose papers across the dark streets. Even in the few houses that were dimly light, the candles were soon blown out and the windows went dark. Muffled snoring could be heard of you stopped to listen. It was peaceful.

The silence was suddenly disturbed by a harsh sound. It was the clunking echo of a woman's shoe bouncing off the walls under a bridge. Her quickening pace implied she was in a hurry. An expensive dress billowed out from underneath her dark cloak as she continued to hurry down the street. The hood draped over her head shook as her white-gloved hands pressed her cloak tightly against her. From beneath the hood several features in her face were exposed, including her long, thin nose, square jaw, and tiny mouth.

Her legs wobbled as she felt herself losing strength. Panting, she stopped to rest against the side of a building. As she threw back her hood, her blonde curls fell to her shoulders. She felt for something to lean on as she slid to the ground. Her chest heaved up and down, still gasping for breath. Her eyes widened. "Who was that?" The words were barely audible as she mumbled them to herself.

Suddenly, her eyes rested on the sight of a light. The light stood out from the darkness that surrounded everything else in the empty street.

The woman pulled herself up from the ground and began to stumble towards the light. Clutching her dress, she shivered while the wind blew passed her. Her high-heeled boots continued to thump against the cobblestones.

But her face went pale as she heard something. Slowly turning around, her ears could make out the faint sound of bounding feet running…running towards her. She screamed and turned around, running as fast as she could towards the light.

Panting and running, her eyes slowly recognized the light to actually be a candle, lighting the outside of a tavern. Her arms flying out, she threw herself against the door and fell headfirst inside the tavern.

There was a warm glow to the room. A few candles were placed along the walls. Most of the chairs were empty. Still, there were several men sitting at tables with mugs in their hands, a few intensely debating near the back of the room, and a heavy-set gypsy man washing dishes in the center of the room at the bar table. A few heads rose to look at the commotion the woman had caused. There were a few men playing cards nearest to the door. One man, who was rather thin with a long beard, looked intently as the woman for a second, only to look away and continue focusing on his game.

Her eyes circled the room. She took a few hesitant steps towards the gypsy man. His back was turned to her as he hummed a foreign tune, scrubbing the dishes.

She woman cleared her throat. "Ahem, excuse me?"

The man was startled. He turned around to face her. His greasy face shined in the candlelight. He had a scruffy beard, a stained apron, and a bandana wrapped around his head. He cracked a smile. One of his front teeth was missing. "How may I help you?"

"I'll have a glass of water." She brushed back her disheveled hair and pulled up a seat next to the man.

He nodded, but before he turned to fetch her drink, he stopped to examine her appearance. Her hair was windblown, her clothes were wrinkled and she looked out of breath. "You walk out on the street looking like that?"

"Hmm?" She looked down at herself and swallowed back her embarrassment. "Some ruffian was chasing me. I did my best to avoid him, that's all." She brushed out the creases in her gown. She wasn't exactly in the mood for conversation.

"You've got to be careful around these parts, especially at nightfall. You never know who could be lurking around." He reached for the pitcher on the table and poured her drink into a dainty cup, the most feminine one he owned. Passing it to her, she took it gratefully.

"Thank you." She took several long gulps.

He gestured to her fancy dress "You on your way to a party?"

She shook her head.

"Oh, then you must be dressed up for a fella, then?"

She wasn't as amused this time. She simply looked at him.

The man continued babbling on "You have a lot of money then, don't you?" He fished for an answer.

Her eyes narrowed. "To be honest, that's none of your business." She said frankly.

He realized he was acting too pushy. Shrugging, he went back to wiping glasses. His back turned to her.

She watched the gypsy cautiously for a few moments, still shook up from being chased. Her eyes flashed to the window, expecting the stalker to be watching her, but there was no one there. Everything was quiet besides a few scattered voices. It seemed like nothing had even happened. It was strange.

She finished the last sip of her drink and felt refreshed. She tapped the man on the shoulder. "I'm done."

He grinned again, ear to ear. "That will be seven francs."

She reached into her purse and felt around, pulling out the money. She plopped it in his dirty hand.

Feeling relaxed, she turned to leave. She hurried towards the door. Just as her hand rested on the knob, the gypsy's voice called from behind her.

"One more thing, Mademoiselle! Who did I have the honor of serving tonight?"

She smiled at him. "Rochelle. Madame Rochelle Boucher."

There was a haunting silence that lingered in the room. All eyes rose from their conversations and stared at her. Every conversation ceased. The gypsy man's smile just grew wider and wider. There must have been twenty pairs of eyes glued to her. Far more than she'd thought there were.

Rochelle bit her lip as she backed towards the wall. She felt as helpless as a wounded puppy. The man's face didn't even move as he said through clenched teeth "That's what I thought."

The color drained from her face. Her throat went dry as her heart pulsated through her chest. "Wh-What's going on?" She stuttered. There was a series of cruel chuckling that answered her.

In a fit of confusion, she dropped her purse and ran through the door as fast as she could. The door slammed behind her.

Panting as her cloak flew behind her, she felt just as she did before. She was alone and scared. She kept running and running. Sweat trickled down her forehead. The tavern was far away, now. She wanted to get even farther.

She felt a lump grow in her throat as she ran down the street. She flung out her arms as she screamed "Help! Help! Someone!" No one could hear her.

She stopped just before passing a dark alley. She rested her hands on her knees, feeling like she was about to throw up. She could hear manic laughing from behind her. She knew they were coming for her. Those gypsies in the tavern were trying to kill her…

She sighed, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to block everything out of her head. "Why is this happening to me?"

Before she realized it, a pair of cold hands reached out from the alley and grabbed her, pulling her into the darkness. She let out an ear-piercing shriek. A black glove rose to her mouth and muffled her cries. A tear rolled down her cheek as she continued to let out cries for help.

She stretched out her neck, trying to look the kidnapper in the eye. A sinister, masked-figure greeted her with a smile. His thin goatee brushed against her face as she felt his hot breath against her neck. His colorful voice whispered "My dear, I do believe you should think twice before wandering the streets of Paris at night."

Rochelle felt a blow to her head. In a flash, she was knocked unconscious.


	2. Clopin

Several hours later she began to regain consciousness. Rochelle felt like her head was whizzing in circles. A stabbing pain throbbed in her back. She tried to move her arms, but she found them bound behind her. She tried to speak but there was a gag shoved in her mouth. Fidgeting and fussing, she tried to stand up but was too weak. All she could see was the blurry image of a man with a knife standing in front of her. As the image cleared, and her ears became aware there were voices speaking, the singsong tone of the man in front of her seemed familiar.

"It seems Sleeping Beauty decided to grace us with her presence!" He teased, tossing his knife from one hand to the other skillfully. There was a chorus of laughter that followed, even though his remark wasn't that funny.

Rochelle continued to try and twist out of her bounds, but failed. And trying to force the gag out of her mouth proved useless. It was tied too tightly.

The man with the knife approached her. Fearing for her life, she screamed and tried to crawl away. He snatched her arm and pulled her up, only to slit the gag around her mouth. Her mouth fell open in surprise.

She was about to shout for help, but the man interrupted her. "I promise you, one more word and you'll regret it." He pressed his finger to his lips "Shhhhhh."

Rochelle wanted to break his finger. Who was this man to tell her when to speak? And how dare he tie her up and make a fool out of her? Although her pride felt strongly to kick him in the leg, her common sense told her to hold her tongue and swallow her pride. He was a gypsy. They were all the same: cutthroats, murderers, and thieves. One wouldn't want to become the enemy of a gypsy.

The man began to cut the ropes around her arms. She felt relieved. Now she was not so much a prisoner and at least a respected hostage.

As the man turned away, she had the opportunity to notice her surroundings. She was sitting in a tunnel underground. It must've been a sewer, because the sewage that floated by smelled like dead rats and old garbage and there was water up to her ankles. She cringed as she watched a rat scurry past the wall of the tunnel opposite her. This could only mean one thing. "Why are we in the catacombs?" she muttered under her breath.

All of a sudden he swung his heels and turned around. He faced her, eye to eye. His knife pointed towards her. "Did you say something?" He hissed.

She froze. She almost said no, but caught herself. Instead she shook her head profusely.

He smiled. "Exactly." He swung back as artfully as he'd done before.

She could feel the heat steaming out of her ears, as her face burned bright. She couldn't think of anything more humiliating than being the forced puppet of street scum. She wrung her hands as she thought '_this man ought to be taken down a notch or two…'_

"Good work, gentlemen!" He stood on his toes and addressed his audience of criminals and homeless men. "You've captured the shrew we were looking for! Our employer will be ecstatic to hear the news of your success. Although I feel inclined to inform you that he warned us of her temper," he winked at Rochelle. "And now, for your hard work, you'll receive your rewards." He reached through his pocket and pulled out a pretty blue purse with a name embroidered carefully in the front. He crudely dumped it in front of the greedy men and watched them rummage through the money.

Rochelle gasped and scowled at the gypsies gathered around her belongings "That's mine!" She got up and began to snatch back her purse.

As if he were waiting for a cue, the man acting as the leader grabbed Rochelle and wrenched her arm behind her, pressing his knife against her throat. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"B-but that money is mine. And that was a very expensive purse." She spoke with spite, but was still careful to watch her neck against his blade.

He tightened his grip on her "I told you not to speak…"

"What are you going to do, kill me? I'm a very influential lady, you know. The whole city would be in an uproar if news of my death were to reach them. You and your henchmen would never see the light of day again." She threatened him.

He paused, and then let out a defeated sigh. He let go of her arms. "If this were any other day, I'd kill you. But _unfortunately_, I need you alive."

She let out a forced laugh "May I ask why?"

"Because our client is expecting us to hold you for particularly large ransom, and at whatever it costs, someone is to pay it."

Her spiteful attitude melted away and blossomed into concern. "And who is this client of yours?"

"Well, honestly, do you think that's any of your business?" He responded playfully.

"Yes of course it's my business. I have every right to know who's ordered my kidnapping," her courage began to mount again.

He flounced away "Sorry, I had specific orders not to tell you."

She stomped her foot and crossed her arms. "Fine, then can you at least tell me where you've brought me? I can't see why this _client _of yours would want me trapped in a sewer."

He grinned and posed for her heroically "Why, you're the only place you'd be if you were to be kidnapped by gypsies: The Court of Miracles."

She wrinkled her nose "The Court of What?"

He sounded less confident. "The Court of Miracles." He tried to explain with some flamboyant hand gestures "You know, the famous place where gypsies hide out?"

"Never heard of it." She dismissed the idea.

His jaw dropped "How could you never have heard of the Court of Miracles?" His eyes began to bulge at the preposterous idea he'd proposed.

"Maybe it's not as famous as you think?" She shrugged.

He slapped his cheek. "This is going to be a long night…"


	3. Traps and Tricks

**I've been working on this chapter for awhile. It didn't come out **_**exactly **_**how I wanted, but I know the next one is going to be a lot better.**

**PS: Just in care for those of you who didn't realize that was Clopin in the last chapter….IT WAS CLOPIN. I just haven't introduced him officially yet lol. I'd like to thank everyone who's reviewed me so far! I'm glad people like this story and so far Rochelle isn't a Mary-Sue! But all that could change at a moment's notice! ;)**

* * *

He sighed. "Listen to me. Stay right here for just a moment. My men will be back shortly to collect you. Can I trust you to stay here without trying to run away?" There seemed to be no pretenses this time. His smile was genuine and his voice was honest. He was asking for her loyalty.

She considered his offer with little thought. "Certainly."

"Do I have your word?" The man held out his hand, expecting her to shake.

"Of course." She took his hand willingly.

Satisfied, he let go of her grasp and stooped down before her, bowing. "My name is Clopin, King of the Gypsies. Know that I am grateful for your understanding. We'll be seeing you in a minute…"

And with their deal set, he and his men left Rochelle behind. Marching down the alleys of the catacombs, they quickly faded from her sight. They expected her to wait cooperatively. They expected her to be loyal to her word.

But of course, Rochelle had other plans in store. As soon as she was absolutely positive the gypsies were gone, she took off like a bullet in the other direction. Her legs tensed as she sprinted down the catacomb alleys. With all the running and chasing, today had certainly worked out as a day for exercise.

Her feet kicked and splashed through the sewers. She sped past a blind gypsy sitting at the edge of the wall with a tin cup for alms. He shook it as she passed, but she ignored him.

Dodging things that floated past her, she ran faster and faster. She could feel excitement boiling inside her.

Pounding through, she ignored the growing discomfort of water in her boots.

The shadows of the torches hanging along the walls danced along with her. She wouldn't let the gypsies catch her this time. This time she'd escape.

Her heart thumped inside her chest. She felt it pounding through her blouse. She chuckled at her own thought. _That was easier than I thought. I should've known it would take less than half a brain to outwit a gypsy. _

She turned a sharp corner and continued to speed by. In the distance she could see a stairway approaching. Assuming it would lead to an exit, she ran full speed ahead. _Just a little longer and you'll be out of here, Rochelle. Keep running. _She picked up the pace and set her eye on her goal.

Just as she leaped for the railing, a colorful shoe tripped her on her way to freedom. With a thud and a crack, she fell hard to the ground, only a few feet away from escape.

She cringed and held her arm as she scrambled to her feet. She'd scrapped her arm. It was tiny, but it still stung. There was a black and blue on her knee. She'd live, but couldn't help but feel angry at the one who caused this unnecessary pain. "Who's there?" Show yourself."

"You failed." A voice spoke.

Rochelle wasn't expecting that answer. "What did you say?"

The voice stepped forward into the torchlight. It was Clopin. The colorful mask that had concealed his face was gone. She watched his wide brown eyes staring down at her like a disappointed parent. She couldn't help but feel awkward.

His mouth was exaggeratedly wide and was crooked downward in a frown. "I gave you a test of loyalty, and you failed. All you had to do was wait one moment." He put on his hat. "You couldn't even do that, could you?"

That familiar lump grew in her throat. In one sentence, everything seemed to piece together. No wonder her chance of freedom seemed so unbelievably lucky. It was _a trap. _"Would you have let me escape if I didn't try and run away?"

"No." It was the truth.

"Oh…" at least her decision hadn't been _that _stupid.

"But I would've had a lot of respect for you." He added.

Respect? She had plenty of that from everyone else in the world. The last person she needed it from was the King of the Gypsies. "I was only trying to protect myself. You can't blame me for trying to run away."

"But I _can _blame you for breaking a promise." He fired back at her.

"Well, what did you expect-" she stopped herself. How could she defend herself when he was so painfully right? They shook hands, and still she broke her promise.

Sheepishly, she admitted her fault. "Sorry…" The apology was quieter than the whimper of a mouse. In case you haven't noticed, Rochelle didn't take pride in being wrong.

He sighed, casting his eyes away from her. "That leaves me with one choice. You'll have to come with me the hard way."

In a change of atmosphere, he knelt down on his knee, swooped her up off her feet and swung her around his shoulder.

Rochelle screamed. "Put me down!" She pounded her fists against his back.

Clopin chuckled a little and carried her down the alley. "You're light as a feather, my little shrew! Why, you couldn't be older than 15!"

"I'm 27 you perverted little man now put me down!" She whammed her knee into his chest

He gasped and clutched his chest. Gritting his teeth, he ignored her hit. "I've got a special place just for you. I know you'll love it."

"You think you can keep me anywhere for long? I'll escape again!"

"Sure, like you did the first time? Was that before or after I kidnapped you?"

"I would've gotten away from you if I hadn't stopped by that alley. You were just lucky!"

"Will you be quiet!"

The bickering couple quarreled down the catacombs until their shouts faded.

* * *

_Several minutes later_

By this time, Rochelle had been brought back to her own two feet and was cooperatively walking with Clopin down the catacombs. Their arguments had ceased, but there was still a slight tension between the two of them.

Clopin led her down a corner and stopped at the dead end. Confused, her head darted around in circles "Didn't you say you knew your way around here?"

"I did, and I do." He replied as if nothing were wrong. Clopin took a step towards the wall, staring at it.

"Then why have we stopped at a dead end? Are you sure you aren't lost?" She poked him in the back. "Are we lost?"

He felt around the wall with his glove. He carefully fingered each crease in the bricks. "I can't believe I forgot which one it is." He muttered to himself.

Rochelle beamed. "Are you looking for a certain brick?"

"Yes…" he was trying to concentrate.

"Oh, like a secret passage?"

He didn't answer.

"That's what it is, isn't it? A secret passage way that leads to the Court of Miracles? I've never seen one in person! Oh this is so exciting, I mean I've read about them in stories and such but I've never gotten to walk through one. Does it lead down a secret tunnel or ladder? Or maybe we have to swing down from ropes to your hideaway? I didn't realize gypsies were this clever! I mean, I knew they were clever to avoid guards and things like that but honestly a secret passage that's just genius! How do you work those? Is there a secret lever that you have to press or a button, and how do you get them to work in the first place?" She babbled excitedly.

He turned around slowly and raised his eyebrow at her, holding a bottle of wine. "I hid my stash in a loose brick last night. After listening to you for an hour, I knew it'd come in handy" he took a swig.

Rochelle stood perfectly still. "Oh," she said quietly.

He rolled his eyes and brushed past her.

"Where are you going?" She ran towards him anxiously.

"To the Court of Miracles, where else?" he took another swig and dropped the empty bottle.

* * *

_Several hours later..._

Clopin and Rochelle panted as they both crawled on their hands and knees to the sign that read "Court of Miracles!"

Clopin jump up to his feet, refreshed. "Ah, here we are!" He took her hand and pulled her towards the opening that was covered with rolls and rolls of curtains. He pulled them out of his way. A bunch of curtains fell onto her face, but she felt her way through.

As Clopin pulled away the last curtain, Rochelle couldn't help but let out a gasp of awe at what she saw. There must've been hundreds of gypsies all wearing arrayed assorts of clothing, bustling around what seemed like a giant underground city. She watched a heavy-set woman leading a group of children along with a wooden cane, three men with instruments talking with some gypsy women, and caravans stretched out as far as she could see. There was music playing, meals cooking, tents rising, and voices that echoed into the high ceilings of the magnificent Court.

"It's not much, I know. But it's home." Clopin said with boredom.

"You…live here?"

"All my life. If you'll excuse me, I need to show you to your room." He tugged her down the huge staircase and pulled her into the bustling city.

They brushed past a family of gypsies: a man with a moustache and a spear in his hand, a woman with her arms around him, and a little boy in rags playing with a toy soldier. The man scowled at Rochelle as she stared at them. She looked away quickly, feeling embarrassed.

Clopin continued to pull her through the colorful tents and caravans. The farther they ventured, the more scowls she earned.

She whispered in his ear "Are all of these gypsies this…friendly?"

"Well it doesn't take the Minister of Justice to realize that when rich, white nobility comes storming into what little home you have, you shouldn't give them the welcoming treatment. These gypsies get thrown in prison because of people like you."

He led her to an abandoned part of the Court. There, in the cobwebs, stood a shabby caravan in the back. Its jovial designs from years past were painted over in black. The windows were barred and the door was heavily locked.

Clopin pulled out a master key and began to play around with the locks while Rochelle stood waiting. "What is this place?" She asked.

Finished, he pulled open the door to reveal a small room with a plate of bread and a cup of stale water. "This, is your home." He reached for her arm and pulled her towards him, throwing her inside.

"I bet you wished you would've kept your word now, don't you?" He joked at a very serious time.

She frowned at him.

"Well, if I were you, I'd get off your bottom and start praying for someone to pay your ransom. Until then, you'll be in here for a long time." He slammed the door.


	4. Uneventful Arrival

**Again, I'd love to thank everyone who has reviewed this story so far and for believing in me not to write a Sue. This is a short chapter, and thanks to Opaque Opal for the plot inspiration! **

**PS: From now on, I have changed Rochelle's age to 25 and her husband (soon to be introduced) is 27**

A woman with faded yellow hair and graying skin sat poised at the windowsill of the second floor to the Boucher's estate. At one time she was very beautiful. As years past, at best, she was passably attractive. Her index finger tapped against the arm of the chair as she rocked back and forth. She suppressed her anxiety.

Something from outside must have startled her. The leaned against the edge of the chair. Her chin rested lightly on her fingertips as they cupped into a fist, her other hand curled in her lap. Patiently, she watched through the window as a carriage drove up to the front door of her mansion.

A servant jumped off from the back of the coach and jerked the carriage door open. A handsome blonde man wearing pale blue stepped out. He thanked the man and sent the coach on its way. The woman seemed relieved.

There was a rapping at the door. "Marguerite, let me in!"

The woman rose from her seat and unlocked the door. A man with a long red beard stood behind it. He was a few years older than she was. He wore a big smile as he spoke excitedly "Jean has just arrived."

She nodded "Yes, I saw him from the window. Do you think he has news of Rochelle?"

"I don't think Jean would forgive himself if he dared return home with no word of his wife's safety." The man spoke hopefully.

She wearily smiled back at him "You're right." She stepped away from him. Marguerite collapsed back in her chair and stared blankly out at her window. "I'm so tired."

He rested his hand on her shoulder. "You've been waiting at that window for hours. You should rest and let me talk to him."

Almost complying with his request, she stopped herself and shook her head, knocking the sleepiness out of her eyes "No, no, I must know that my daughter is safe. Rochelle is the most important thing to me in the world."

The husband and wife were interrupted by the sound of someone banging on the front door. "Stay here," he urged once more. Without another argument, Marguerite gave up, closing her eyes for a nap.

Jogging down the stairs, the red bearded man flung open the front door to reveal the man in pale blue. The older of the two smiled. "Jean my lad, how are you?"

"Fine, sir. And yourself?"

"Well enough, I suppose." He said half-heartedly. "You know how anxious my wife and I have been about Rochelle's disappearance."

Jean's reply was cheerless. "I share your distress."

"Of course you do." Mr. Boucher kept a moment to himself.

But the real matter at hand needed to be discussed. The older man pressed on. "What's the latest information on her disappearance?" He spoke with a sense of urgency. "Has she run away? Did anyone see her last night? Does anyone know where she might be, any idea at all? What news is there? Please tell me you've learned something."

Jean looked grave. "Yes, I have." He stared at the red bearded man sadly.

"Well?" Boucher craved answers.

Jean couldn't prolong the inevitable. He began to weave his tale "My sources are reliable, of course. The word from my friends is that some men claim they saw a blonde woman kidnapped by gypsies late last night. There was a gang of them at Sébastien's Tavern. Apparently, it was as favored place of theirs to socialize, but nobody's seen any gypsies there all day. I'm guessing they must've abandoned it for fear of being caught. And…" he stopped.

"Go on!" Boucher was impatient for information.

Jean continued reluctantly. "Nobody's seen a trace of the girl in question, either."

Boucher leaned closer to Jean as if the story of Rochelle's plight was scribbled across his face "Is that all?"

Jean was silent.

"No one has…any idea? There isn't one clue to who she is or where she is?" He sputtered in disbelieve.

Without a word, Jean nodded solemnly.

Monsieur Boucher's face went red with anger to white with fear. "It's her! It must be her! Who else could it be?" In the fit of his rage he lost his breath. Gasping, he stopped to cling to the banister of the stairs. "I...I would've thought they found her by now. You'd think there'd be some trace of her?"

"It is a tragedy."

"She could've been raped or robbed or ripped to pieces by now. I…I…What will I say to Marguerite?" Boucher began to panic.

Jean reached out for him. "You have nothing to fear. I swear I will bring Rochelle back, alive and well."

"But Marguerite waits in her chamber for your news at this very moment!"

"Tell her that I haven't heard anything, and neither has anyone else. You understand?"

Boucher felt at unease, but agreed to Jean's proposal. "I suppose it's all we can do. I couldn't bear to see Marguerite in distress.

"Exactly. I know she grows frail in her years. We must not force another strain upon her."

Boucher continued "But mark my words," he trembled "When I find the rat behind all this, I'm going to kill the gypsy worm with my own hands!"

Obviously, the shock had altered Boucher's sense of right and wrong. To kill another wouldn't resolve anything. Jean ignored his father-in-law's ranting. He changed the subject to light chit-chat. "Thomas, it's cold out there. May I come in?"

Thomas had forgotten that the two men were conversing at the front door. "Yes, of course." He invited the young boy in. The two continued to talk to each other as Thomas led him down the corridor to the parlor to further discuss the matter in the privacy of their home. The day would be a long one…

That night, Jean tossed and turned in his bed. He felt it creak beneath him. His body felt like lead, but his mind wouldn't rest. He grumbled as he turned from side to side. His eyes slapped shut as he tried to sleep, but his mind forced him to recall the uneasiness at the dinner table only hours before. Marguerite looked ghostly white, her husband equally pale as the three of them enjoyed a bountiful, yet unsatisfying dinner. Her bony hand latched to her face as her sobs drowned into her handkerchief. The cause of this was the empty chair next to Jean…meant for his wife…

"I can't take this." Jean turned over and stared at the ceiling. He rested his arms on top of the coverlet and let the sweat trickle out of his palms. "I can't take another moment of this. I must take matters into my own hands." He tossed the bed sheets off and to the side. He jumped out of bed and slipped into his slippers. He crept across his room on his toes quietly.

When he reached the closet he felt through until he pulled out a simple white shirt. Slipping on a pair of pants over his sleepwear, he stepped into his boots. He snatched his jacket hanging on the bedpost and made his way down the stairs. He was quick on his feet but careful enough to slow down as he passed Monsieur and Madame Boucher's rooms. He whispered "I promise I'll be back," into the dark room with the two shadowy figures snoring in the canopy bed.

He made his way downstairs and through the front door, shutting it softly behind him. Before he made another move, his head darted back and forth. Jean squinted into the night to see if anyone was there. There was no one. He crept to the stable to fetch a horse.

**Where's Jean going? Read the next chapter to find out! **


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